


Saturday at 5:15 a.m.

by chanderson



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: He’s never been very good at admitting weakness, hates having to tell anyone that he’s sick or doesn’t feel well. He doesn’tneedanyone. Except a tiny, infuriating voice in the back of his mind taunts him by reminding him that he’s alwaysneededMacKenzie.





	Saturday at 5:15 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Newsroom fic so sorry if it's a lil OOC. I love Mac and Will, and I also love sickfics so here you go.

Will gasps awake in the middle of the night feeling disoriented in his dark bedroom. His t-shirt sticks to his back and his bangs are plastered to his forehead. He’s shaky, nauseous, a little confused. 

Still caught somewhere between asleep and awake, he tugs the cord on his lamp and recoils from the sudden burst of light. After his eyes adjust, he sits up and runs a shaking hand over his face, pushing his wet hair back. 

He grabs his phone and checks the time. It’s a little before 4 a.m., way too early to justify getting up, but he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep. Not with the way nausea is churning low in his gut, an uneasy feeling that only starts to get worse the longer he sits there. 

Before he really registers what’s happening, he’s throwing the blankets back and stumbling into his bathroom. He doesn’t even have time to turn on the lights before he’s dropping to his knees and shoving the toilet lid up all in one motion. 

He pukes until there’s nothing left. Then he dry heaves until his throat feels raw and irritated. 

“Fuck,” he mutters before spitting into the toilet and flushing. He brushes his teeth and stares at himself in the mirror. The lights are still off but even in the dim, bluish lighting he can see how shitty he looks. Eyes blood shot and rimmed with red, face pale and shiny with sweat. He spits and rinses his mouth out, sucks in a deep breath, tries to calm himself down a little. Regain his balance. 

He crawls back into bed and burrows down under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin. His skin is clammy, and he involuntarily shivers. 

_Fuck_. 

His phone is somewhere tangled up in the sheets, so he digs around until he finds it. He’s got a whole slew of notifications on the lock screen that he chooses to ignore. It’s almost 5:15 now. 

He calls MacKenzie. 

She picks up on the fifth ring, right before he’s about to hang up and text her. She sounds sleepy when she greets him, a little confused given the time. 

“Will? What’s wrong? Don’t you know it’s only 5:15? On a _Saturday?”_

He opens and closes his mouth, suddenly tongue-tied.

“I, uh, sorry,” he manages to stammer out. He’s never been very good at admitting weakness, hates having to tell anyone that he’s sick or doesn’t feel well. He doesn’t _need_ anyone. Except a tiny, infuriating voice in the back of his mind taunts him by reminding him that he’s always _needed_ MacKenzie, so he takes a breath and sighs. “I don’t feel very well.” 

“Oh… Okay? I’m sorry,” Mac says slowly. “Is there any particular reason you’re telling me? At 5:15? On a _Saturday?”_

He cringes, suddenly feels like a fucking idiot for calling Mac. He’s not some wimpy, whiny bitch who needs someone to take care of him when he’s si —

_“Will._ Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No, I just–” Will groans in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose in a poor attempt to stave off the headache steadily building behind his eyes. God he feels _sick,_ thinks he might need to go back into the bathroom, but it passes after he takes another breath. He can hear Mac’s steady breathing over the line and he tries to match it. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just that I’ve been throwing up all morning and I’m really dizzy, so I don’t know if I can even get back into the bathroom, and my head’s fucking pounding. I’m just really sick and didn’t know who else to call—”

“Billy,” Mac says gently. “Hush.”

Will closes his mouth and swallows. “Okay.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready and I’ll come over. Do you need anything? I can pick up some stuff on the way over. There’s a Duane Reade right down the block from me.”

“No, no, I think I’m okay.”

“I think you’re lying so I’ll stop and pick a few things up.” The phone rustles, running water whooshes in the background. Will’s stomach roils and he takes a shaky breath.

“Hey Mac? I’m gonna go. I’ll buzz you in when you get here.” 

“Sure, okay. Bye Will.”

She’s barely finished speaking before he drops his phone onto the bed and staggers back into the bathroom. His knees hit the tile with a clack and then he’s heaving again, gasping in an attempt to catch his breath. It’s all bile at this point and it burns on the way up, making his nose run and his eyes water. He groans and rests his forehead against the cool porcelain before shakily flushing. 

He sits there until he hears the buzzer and has to drag himself up by grabbing onto the counter so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He buzzes Mac in and collapses down on the couch, immediately curling in on himself and fighting off a fresh wave of dizziness. 

As soon as Mac’s through the door, she’s hustling into the kitchen and talking a mile a minute.

“Hey, sorry I got here as fast as I could. Apparently traffic is a real bitch this early on a Saturday.” He hears her set something down on the counters with a thunk. “How are you feeling? Have you thrown up again?” The bags rustle as she unpacks them. Will swallows down a surge of nausea.

“I–yeah. I threw up again.” He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Of course.” Mac’s voice gets louder the closer she gets, and then her hand is smoothing his hair back and she’s placing a cold compress on his forehead. Will sighs quietly, wrenching his eyes open as Mac prods him to sit up. 

“It’s probably just something I ate. Or, well, I hope it is. Wouldn’t want you getting sick too. We couldn’t do the news without you, you know?” He’s rambling; he _knows_ he’s rambling, but he’s never been good in these kinds of situations. It always feels so awkward having someone there to take care of him. He never had that as a child, and he’s too damn emotionally stunted and _prideful_ to let anyone see him when he’s down. 

Mac silently sits on the couch, puts a pillow on her lap, and helps Will lie back down. His eyes drift closed again as she combs through his hair. 

“It’s okay, Billy. I don’t mind.”

They fall into a comfortable silence then. 

She methodically pulls her fingers through his hair, occasionally stops to readjust the cold compress. Will lays there and tries to breathe through the nausea. 

But it’s not long before he’s stumbling into the bathroom again, Mac’s arm tight around his shoulders to keep him from falling. She lowers him down gently and politely turns her head as he retches. 

“Jesus fuck.”

“Shh, you’re okay,” Mac soothes. “You’re okay.” 

She repeats it over and over until he flushes and slumps back against her. She wraps him up in a hug. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.” 

The genuine remorse in her voice makes Will snort out a pitiful little laugh. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says as Mac helps him up. They make their way slowly – so fucking slowly – into Will’s bedroom. The room’s spinning so badly that he feels like he’s drunk with the spins. Somehow Mac manages to keep him from falling on his ass and helps him lie down.

She hesitates half a second before circling to the other side of the bed and climbing in with him. He’s too hot to lay under the covers, so Mac just scoots up behind him and spoons him, hugging him against her. She slides a leg in between his to get comfortable; he scoots up just a little so her arm isn’t digging into his rib cage; they both let out the breaths they were holding. 

After a few minutes, Mac starts soothingly rubbing his stomach.

“You can always call me if you need someone,” she whispers after a while, her breath warm on the back of his neck. He swallows, his throat suddenly tight. 

“I know.” He squeezes her hand. “Thanks.” 

“Get some sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He lets his eyes drift closed. 

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

“No, you don’t have to stay. Really. I’m fine.” 

Mac squeezes him in a hug. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” she says again. “Go to sleep, Will.” 

“Okay.” 

He falls asleep to the quiet inhale and exhale of Mac’s breathing. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was something super short I wrote earlier. I hope it was at least a little enjoyable lmao. Comments are much appreciated!


End file.
